Friend Of My Enemies
by The-Cursed-Daughter
Summary: In the wake of the second cardinal's death, the camerlengo recieves confirmation from an unexpected source; one believed to be long gone. Who is this young woman, and how much does she know? And who else has she visited?
1. Camerlengo Carlo Ventresca

_Um, hi! This is Kit!_

And I'm Violet!

_Some of you may know us from our Hellboy stories, but we're planning on posting some stuff for Da Vinci Code/Angels & Demons. _

This is actually a dream that Kit had, and we're posting it just to get a feel for the fandom befor we post our Silas story.

_This is an Angels & Demons's story, and we refrained from using the camerlengo's name because in the book his name is Carlo Ventresca, and in the movie he is Patrick McKenna._

_**Warnings: Um....none really. That's strange, usually we have swearing.**_

_**Disclaimers: We own nothing but the plot, the Illuminata and the message.**_

_Buona sera__: Good evening_

_Buona fortuna__: Good luck_

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The camerlengo sat in the Papal office as Mr. Langdon, Ms. Vetra, and Sergeant Olivetti stood outside, discussing the location of the third cardinal. To any man, the camerlengo appeared to be a man in anguish, but inside, his heart sang. It was all going according to plan! While he mourned for the losses of the cardinals, he knew that it was all for the better of the church—for the good of the religious world, really.

Suddenly, the phone rang, and instinctively the camerlengo grabbed it, pressing it to his ear. "Hello?" he asked, his voice weary.

There was a smile in the voice on the other end—it was English and unquestionably female. "_Buona sera_, Mr. Camerlengo."

The camerlengo sat up straight, bemused. "Who do you think you are?" he demanded, "To speak to a man of the cloth—especially one of my station—in such a way?"

The woman sounded smug. "Guess."

The sudden insulted rage was wiped from the camerlengo—who would call at this time of night just to play games with him? "Well, you are certainly not Catholic."

Now it was the woman's turn to be insulted. "How dare you suggest that? I do not waste my time believing in your petty God."

_Right, definitely not Catholic,_ the camerlengo thought to himself. Outside the door, he heard Mr. Langdon shout in surprise, and there was a rush of footsteps. There was a knock on the door and Sergeant Olivetti stuck his head in. "_Signore_, the American and the scientist are going to find the third cardinal."

The camerlengo nodded, and Olivetti disappeared. Putting the phone back on his ear, he heard a chuckling on the other end. "Poor Sergeant Olivetti," the woman said, "I suppose he'll run himself into the grave, searching for the fake Illuminati."

The camerlengo's jaw dropped in surprise, and the two foremost thoughts in his mind were jumbled into a sentence. "How did you—what do you mean, _fake_?" How in the world could she know it was a fake?

There was a laugh. "I know that the Illuminati you have the Swiss Guard looking for are a fake, because you are on the line with the real Illuminati."

"Impossible. The real Illuminati were disbanded centuries ago—and furthermore, they didn't recruit women." As he questioned her, his mind whirled. How did she know—did the Hassassin tell her? No, it couldn't have been him; he would die rather then betray the Illuminati.

The Illuminata sounded stung. "Well, desperate times. The Illuminati recruit who they can get. And you know how the saying goes—the people the world should fear the most are the ones the world thinks are long gone." She paused before continuing, "Although I am slightly put out by the fact that you've gotten your grubby priest hands all over our Illuminati Diamond, but it can't be helped. We aren't stupid enough to break into the Papal library."

"So this is why you called me?" the camerlengo confronted, once again angry. "To demand back your filthy, Godless brands?"

"Spare me. That is one for the record books, a woman of science being reprimanded by a man who killed the Pope."

"I did what had to be done for the world!"

She scoffed. "A world whose population isn't even thirty percent Catholic."

"And that is the point!" the camerlengo shouted into the phone, "That is why I must do this!"

"I never questioned your intentions. In fact, I actually called to praise you."

The man's anger deflated and he sank back into his seat. "You called to....._congratulate_ me?"

He could almost sense the woman shrugging. "Of course. You put the Illuminati back on the map." After a moment, she added, "Besides, if you fail, I'm comforted by that fact that your antimatter will be blowing a huge hole in Catholicism."

The camerlengo listened, utterly confused. "Why?"

"Why? Because, you're right. Your church and science will never mesh; not if the Church insists upon smothering scientific development and calling it satanic. Religion and science are two very different spectrums."

A smile pulled on the camerlengo's lips. "You understand."

"Naturally—but not for the same reasons as you. In case you've forgotten, I believe the church is a farce. I, in fact, called to suggest you have a back-up plan. I wish you luck, and feel it's a pity that you won't succeed."

The camerlengo frowned. "Why ever not?"

As he waited for the answer, the camerlengo suddenly had a clear picture of the woman smiling. "Because, Mr. Camerlengo, you have a man of science on your trail." The man started to answer, but there was a click—the dial tone blared in his ear.

Putting down the phone, the camerlengo sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to process what he had just heard. He had just had a conversation with an Illuminata who had ridiculed him, insulted him, praised him and then insulted him once more. What a night—he was willing to bet that this was just some strange hallucination.

Jarring the camerlengo out of his reverie, the phone rang. As he picked up, the priest half-expected it to be the Illuminata, but it was Rocher. "_Signore_, they found the third cardinal."

"Is he alive?" the camerlengo asked, though he already knew the answer.

It sounded like Rocher was speaking to someone else before he spoke into the phone, his voice uneasy. "_Signore_, perhaps I should tell you this in person......."

"No," the camerlengo said firmly, "Tell me now."

"Well, _signore_, the cardinal was burned to death, and there was an ambigrammatic brand on his chest." The camerlengo nodded—exactly—and opened his mouth, but Rocher wasn't finished. "But, _signore_, that wasn't all."

The camerlengo paused, confused. That wasn't all? Had the Hassassin added a personal touch? "What do you mean? There was more, as if this atrocity wasn't enough?"

Rocher's voice sounded weary. "I'm sorry _signore_, but my men found a scrap of paper tied around the cardinal's neck. It's said, _'Buona fortuna, Mr. Camerlengo'_."

A note with the message _'good luck'_? As he hung up, the camerlengo found himself smiling. Perhaps it wasn't a hallucination after all.

* * *

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_We wanna know what you think!_

_Kit &_ Violet


	2. Robert Langdon

_Daydreamed this during my art final.....hope you like it!_

We're trying to figure out who to pose our Illuminata with next! Kit's thinking the Hassassin, I'm thinking Olivetti.....

_We would have even done Cardinal Morati, but he's locked in_ Il Conclavo_! Either way, these seem to only come to me when I'm unconscious!_

Enjoy!

_**Warnings: Not much.....just a tiniest bit of swearing. Like, one time.**_

_**Disclaimers: We own nothing but the plot, the Rolex man and Ceto.**_

_BTW, we posted this in the Da Vinci Code to get more feedback.....did you know that there are only THREE stories in the Angels & Demons category?_

Blasphemy!

* * *

Robert nodded absently as the waitress put a cup of coffee by his elbow. He had been way too late—not too late to find the cardinal, though; they had found the third cardinal, alright.

Burned—_burning,_ Robert shuddered—to a crisp, branded and helpless. And to add insult to injury, that damned Hassassin had left the camerlengo a message; as if the priest hadn't suffered enough already. And so now he had bolted—Olivetti was dead, Vittoria was gone, and he had no idea where the next cardinal would be.

"Hey mister."

The sudden greeting caught Robert by surprise, and he jumped, his elbow hitting the coffee cup off the table. The symbologist looked up to meet the gaze of a young girl; twenty-three, at most, who was bent over, Robert's coffee cup—with half of the coffee in it, and the other half on her shirt sleeve—balanced in her hand.

Immediately Robert grabbed the coffee cup and set it on the table. "Shit! I'm so sorry, I didn't realize—I mean—here are some napkins—"

The girl laughed and sat down, shaking her head when Robert offered up the napkins. "No, thank you." Robert watched, stunned, as the girl pulled a knife out of her jeans pocket and cut off the stained part of her pale blue button-up's sleeve. At his surprised glance, she smiled. "It's a rather old shirt anyway." Gesturing to the waitress, she ordered two coffees.

"You really don't have to!"

She gave him a look. "Nonsense. It's my fault you spilled your coffee." As she spoke, Robert found his eyes drawn to her chest—or more accurately, the buttons of her shirt. They were in the form of a diamond, perfectly symmetrical. It looked like there were words in the diamond, but the girl shifted and he could read no more.

The waitress brought them their drinks, and Robert absently stirred his coffee, looking out the window into the plaza. Where could the fourth cardinal be? There was no church dedicated to water, and Bernini had never made a sculpture about water. It was a dead end!

"_Ansioso_, mister?"

Robert looked up in surprise. "What?"

The girl smiled. "I said, anxious, mister? You seem kind of nervous."

"Nervous?" Langdon asked. "I'm not nervous—I'm just looking for something."

"Something valuable?"

He thought of the last cardinal; Cardinal Baggia. "Very."

The girl smirked, as if she knew something he didn't, but said nothing. Curious, Robert asked, "Why did you think I was anxious, Miss......"

"Ceto," she said.

"That's not your typical Italian name," the man noted.

Ceto nodded. "It's not—it's from Galileo's time." Again, there was that smirk, but it vanished quickly, replaced by a smile. "And, I thought you were nervous because that is the sixteenth packet of sugar you've stirred into your coffee."

Surprised, Robert looked down to see exactly sixteen empty sugar packets crowding his coffee cup. The symbologist took a sip and recoiled; it was sickeningly sweet. Before he could protest, Ceto had ordered him another. Suddenly, before Robert could stop himself, he blurted, "You wouldn't happen to know if Bernini ever made a sculpture about water, do you?"

Ceto paused, and Robert mentally cursed himself. He had just met this girl, and he was more or less telling her his problems!

The girl snapped her fingers. "Bernini had a fountain—the _Fountain of Four Rivers_. That counts as a sculpture, doesn't it?"

Robert's shoulders sagged in relief. He glanced at the clock—it was ten-fifty—but Ceto shook her head. "The clock in this café is always ten minutes fast." She stood and put several bills on the table. "And speaking of the time, I should be getting home." Ceto headed for the exit and winked. "_Buona fortuna,_ Robert," she said as she disappeared out the door.

The man sat for a few more minutes, calculating the shortest path to the fountain when something occurred to him. "_Buona fortuna,_" he muttered and then his eyes widened. "I never told her my name!" He burst out the door of the café, glancing both way, but the girl was long gone. Robert turned to a man who was selling fake Rolex watches on the street. "What time is it?" When the man gave him a strange look, he repeated it in Italian.

The seller looked at him like he was crazy. "It's ten fifty-five, _signore_. Want a watch so you don't have to bother people?"

Robert swore—there went another cardinal. He ran across the plaza, almost getting hit by a car for his efforts, and bolted down the street, his coat flying out behind him.

In fact, he ran so fast that he didn't notice Ceto leaning against a lightpost, playing with a clip of bullets—the kind that came from a special issue Swiss Guard pistol.

The exact same pistol the Robert Langdon currently carried in his jacket pocket.

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_We'd love to know what you think! _

_Kit & _Violet


	3. The Hassassin

_Sorry this is short, but it's all I could dream of! My mom woke me up too soon!_

Enjoy!

_And be SURE to check the title of the next one. If my subconscious hints are anything to go on.....well, the next one's a helluva surprise._

_**Warnings/Disclaimers: The usual.**_

* * *

The Hassassin ran his hands over the woman's body, idling over her chest as he checked to make sure the ropes were secure. Growling to remind himself of time and place, he swore to himself that after the last cardinal, Leonardo Vetra's daughter was all his.

"Nice prize. Is she for here or to go?"

The Hassassin whirled, simultaneously reaching for his weapon. His eyes widened in surprise behind his glasses as he realized his gun wasn't where he placed it. The red-head perched on the balcony railing smirked and held up a gun. "Looking for this?"

He tensed as she stepped down and into the room. She gave him a look. "Relax; I'm just here to talk." The man wasn't so sure—all he needed her to do was get closer, and he could break her neck.

To his immense surprise, the girl extended her hand. "Ceto's the name. And you are?"

The Hassassin gripped her wrist and pulled—but he was surprised to find himself flying into the wall with a thud. Ceto stood above him, examining her shirt. "Goddamnit, man! There goes my other shirt sleeve!" The Hassassin looked at his clenched hand, and found the cuff of a shirt in it. The button on the cuff fell into his lap, and his eyes widened in surprise—it was the Illuminati Diamond. He dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead into the floor. "You are one of them."

Ceto glanced at him. "Yeah, I am. The real ones, by the way—and those buttons cost a helluva lot to make. Langdon already wrecked one of them." She looked at her watch. "Speaking of which, he's already heading for the last altar—should you be going too?"

"He won't be able to stop me either way," the Hassassin said, his voice muffled by his proximity to the floor.

Ceto sighed. "Get up. Honestly, the theatrics are rather unnecessary; considering you were trying to kill me a minute ago."

The Hassassin stood. "Do you know Janus?"

"Never heard of him."

"What do you mean? Janus said he was very high up in the Illuminati!"

Ceto smirked. "Oh, he's high up, believe me—but not in the Illuminati."

The Hassassin frowned—he hated riddles. Vetra's daughter moaned, but a quick glance confirmed she was still asleep. When he looked back at the Illuminata, he found her by the balcony again. As he walked up to her, she asked, "Have you ever fallen two hundred feet to the ground?"

He was taken aback by the question. "No, I have never thought to give it a—"

Ceto turned and smiled at him. "You should practice—you'll be giving it a try soon, I expect." And without another word, she swung up and over the railing, sailing out into the air. Time seemed to pause as she grinned and gave him a cheeky salute, and then she was hundreds of feet below him.

The clock rang out eleven, and the Hassassin groaned. He was late.

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_Kit &_ Violet


	4. Pope Celestine V

_Yup, I was right! _

Well, more like her subconscious!

_Whatever! This one was fun; I dozed off in the car and thought of it. Enjoy!_

And review!

_**Warnings/Disclaimers: The usual**_

_BTW, in case you haven't realized, this happens BEFORE the rest of the story; seeing as how the Pope is still alive._

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Pope Celestine V chuckled to himself as he watched his camerlengo stumble out of the papal office, struggling with the tall stack of papers. Glancing down at his wizened hands, he sighed, playing absently with the Fisherman's Ring. Outside he heard a shout of alarm and a fluttering sound—Carlo had just dropped the papers.

"So," said a voice from the corner, "When are you going to tell him that he is your son?"

The Pope's eyes whirled to the corner, out of which stepped a young woman, absently flipping a strand of her red hair over her shoulder. "Who are you?"

The girl sneered at him as she kicked the lock shut on the door. "No one important, _Your Holiness_, but you may call me Ceto."

"Is this a joke? Tell me what's going on, or I shall have to call the police!" The Pope reached for the button under his desk, which would summon hordes of Swiss Guard.

Ceto just smiled, and took of her jacket. The Pope froze as he saw the revolver strapped to her waist. She hung the jacket on one of the seats at the table and leaned forward on it. "I would appreciate it if you didn't, sir." She smirked, mocking him. "I have horrible aim, to tell you the truth, Father, but I have plenty of bullets to spare."

Something in her voice told Pope Celestine that in fact Ceto was an excellent shot. She was also excellently unnoticeable—for someone who looked like their head was on fire—having been able to sneak into the papal office. There were dozens of people out there......Celestine froze. "Carlo! Where is he? If you have done anything, by God, I will—"

Ceto laughed. "For shame, Your Holiness! Using the Lord's name in vain—how could you?" She glanced back at the door. "The camerlengo is fine, and in fact, you haven't answered my question; will you ever tell him he is your son?"

"How in the world could—"

"How in the world could I know?" she finished, shrugging. "I get around. The Illuminati are known for doing that."

Pope Celestine gasped, his old heart pounding. "The Illuminati were disbanded centuries ago! They are a figment of imagination!"

Ceto shook her head. "Oh, Your Holiness, I beg to differ." She fingered a necklace hanging on the front of her shirt—a perfectly symmetrical diamond of what appeared to be _words_. "The Illuminati are _very_ real, Father, and _very_ angry." The young woman frowned. "_La purga_ wasn't your brightest idea." Her hand slipped from her necklace to her revolver. "Now, back to the camerlengo—when?"

The Pope looked down, ashamed. "He already knows."

Ceto's eyes widened in surprise, and she frowned. "Really? Then you are already lost, Father."

"He took it quite well."

The girl scoffed. "Hardly. I do hope that you've lived a long and full life, Your Holiness, because the time has come when you don't know who to trust."

"I am lectured about trust by a hooligan who strolls into my office with a gun?!"

She shrugged. "Touché. I'm merely warning you—many people want you dead."

Celestine's hand flew to the button, but before he could press it, Ceto moved in a blur—she stood in front of the Pope, her gun squared point blank on his forehead. "Father, if you would let me finish. Many people want you dead; I am one of them." The Pope moved again, and she pulled back the hammer. "Ah, ah, ah; will you let me finish or not? While I am Illuminati, the honor of killing you does not fall to me. That will be done by someone much closer."

The Pope paused. "What?"

Ceto sighed. "Finally. Nice to know I've gotten through. I am merely warning you watch your back." She glanced at his desk. "It would also be appreciated if you kept your hands above the desk for the remainder of our conversation."

Slowly, the old man moved his hands up and rested them on the desk. Ceto lowered the gun. "Thank you."

"How do you know this?" the Pope demanded. "Who would want to kill me?"

"Try half the world, sir—for starters. I will tell you this, however; the camerlengo did not take it was well as you think he did."

The Pope struggled to understand what she meant. "If you are an Illuminata, why are you saving me?"

Ceto grinned. "Oh, I'm merely giving you a glimpse into the future. You are beyond saving, I'm afraid."

Surprised, the Pope asked, "What do you mean?" But Ceto didn't seem to want to answer. Her gun disappeared into its holster, and her jacket slid onto her shoulders. Kicking up the lock on the door and pulling it open, Ceto turned back to the old man and winked. "You might want to press that button now."

But the Pope was too stunned to do anything more than stare.

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_Kit &_ Violet


	5. Vittoria Vetra

Gee, y'all, thanks for the multitude of reviews......mneh!

_Vi's just pissed 'cause you guys ain't reviewing. Anyway, I just thought these ones (this one and the next one) up somewhere between sleep and consciousness about......two hours ago. I'd be sorry that it's short, but-_

But she's not in the mood to try for non-reviewers!

_(I told you she was pissed!) _

_**Warnings/Disclaimers: Um...the usual, I guess.**_

* * *

Vittoria Vetra stared out the window as the other passengers filed past her front seat into the plane headed for Geneva, Switzerland. She noticed vaguely as someone's bag almost hit her head, and an incessant baby's crying was white noise in her ears. Her father had been murdered and mutilated, and the canister of antimatter that they had worked on for so long was stolen—about to be used for God-knows-what. Now she was flying back to CERN to see her father's body and meet Robert Langdon, the symbologist.

"Is something wrong?"

The yoga master jerked in surprise as she noticed someone had sat down next to her. It was a young woman—college-aged, she would have guessed—with brilliant red hair and a cocky grin. Her light blue button-up shirt was adorned with the strangest looking buttons Vittoria had ever seen. She smiled again, and extended her hand. "Ceto Aiolfi."

"Vittoria Vetra." They shook hands, then Vittoria turned back to the window. With a shudder, the plane began to trudge forward, and her view of the ocean started to move away.

"If you don't mind my saying, you seem very upset."

Vittoria turned away from the window, facing the other woman. "My father was murdered."

If anything, Ceto didn't look surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry." She didn't look very sorry either. "It was his own fault anyway."

Vittoria arched an eyebrow in shock. "Excuse me?" The bio-entanglement physicist wasn't sure if she had heard the girl correctly. "Did you say something?"

Ceto frowned. "I said I was very sorry for your loss. Is something wrong?"

The physicist paused—maybe she was imagining things. "No, I'm sorry."

"So," Ceto asked. "Are you going to his funeral?"

"Something like that. I'm going back to CERN."

Ceto leaned toward her. "But that's where I'm headed! I'm a student there!"

Vittoria frowned—she had never seen the girl around campus, and with that bright red hair, she was impossible to miss. "Are you sure we're talking about the same CERN? Conseil Européen pour la Recherche Nucléaire? _"_

"Are you saying there's more than one?"

The physicist frowned. "Who do you study under?"

The girl shrugged. "I don't know. I'm new—tomorrow's my first day. I saw his picture though. He's bald and in a wheelchair covered in gadgets."

Vittoria blinked in surprise. "Maximilian Kohler?"

Ceto shrugged, and they were silent for a few minutes before Ceto said, "So, tell me about the antimatter project you were working on."

The physicist whirled on her. "How did you know about that?!"

"Shh, the other passengers will hear." She shrugged. "It's irrelevant." Ceto's eyes glinted. "Does it work? Have you collected enough for it to be used?"

"I'll tell you nothing until I know how you heard about this!"

Ceto rolled her eyes. "Dramatic, aren't we? I get around, I'm good at it? Besides, I'm going to be a student at CERN, and several of my friends are already there. We hear rumors, okay?"

Vittoria calmed slightly—so, it was just a curious kid. "Oh, well, in that case. My father and I generated enough antimatter to power a city for a month. It's very small, but hopefully we—I, I mean—will be able to create more in the near future."

"Do you think it will be powerful enough to eradicate Vatican City?"

"Well I suppose so—" Vittoria suddenly realized what she was being asked. _"What?"_

Ceto smiled, totally oblivious to the reaction her comment had sparked. "Antimatter can also be used as an incendiary, can't it? All it has to do it touch matter. Do you think the amount of antimatter you created could destroy Vatican City if it were to fall out of suspension?"

The physicist paused, shocked. Who asked questions like that—and why so specific? What was so important about Vatican City? Suddenly, Vittoria remembered; the new Pope was being elected today.

She turned to interrogate Ceto again, but the girl had stood up and had stepped into the bathroom. Even thought the vacancy light turned on several minutes later, Ceto never came out.

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_Kit &_ Violet


	6. Commander Ernesto Olivetti

Right then, thanks for the reviews......those of you who are reviewing!

_I really enjoyed this one....but my favorite one of all time will be the one I do for Chartrand. I'm continuing to dream these......so I can't guarantee who comes when, but I know Chartrand will be very last. If you guys have any ideas of who you want next (I'm running out of characters!!), please tell me!_

_**Warnings/Disclaimers: The usual.**_

_This is the first chapter with a now-later thing! You'll see what I mean!_

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"Did you know, as you left for work this morning, that your world was going to end today?"

Commander Olivetti paused on his way out the door of his favorite coffee shop, and glanced around for the owner of the voice. He spotted a teenager leaning against the street light on the corner, one of her feet up against one of the outdoor tables. He instantly began to profile her—red hair, blue-button up, slight bags under her green eyes; the look in which was disturbing, though Olivetti didn't know why. She was college-aged, and a bulge under her jacket suggested she was a card-carrying member of the Italian Gun Association. "What?"

With a swift movement of her shoulders, the girl was upright and walking toward him. Olivetti automatically shifted his weight, and she noticed. "Relax, Commander, I'm not going to attack you." She glanced out onto the street, which was packed with civilians, and the disturbing look in her eyes grew more distinct. "Too many witnesses. I merely asked you if you knew that your world was going to end."

The commander started to answer, when he paused. She had said _your_, not _the_. "_My_ world?" he asked, placing his coffee on a table. It suddenly didn't seem as important as his current conversation.

The girl didn't answer—instead, she shrugged and walked off across the road, sidestepping a car. The driver hollered at her, but she didn't notice. Once she had reached the other side, she turned and smiled at Olivetti. "Tell me," she shouted over the din on the streets, "What is the world to a man of the Swiss Guard?"

What a stupid question. The Swiss Guard had been founded five hundred years ago with that single-minded goal and duty to protect the Pope and Vatican City. To a Swiss Guard, the safety of Vatican City was life itself.

Olivetti's jaw dropped.

To a man of the Swiss Guard, Vatican City was the world.

Taking off at a run, his coffee forgotten, Olivetti dashed after the girl. Her bright red hair spun and flashed in the crowds as she realized she was being followed. Olivetti swore and sped up, shoving past civilians. The girl led him on a merry dash through Vatican City until he finally cornered her in Saint Peter's Square. Pinning her to the wall, he demanded, "Who are you?"

"A girl," came the smartass answer.

Olivetti pressed her harder into the stone. "What is your name?"

She smirked. "Ceto. Nice to meet you." The girl tested his grip. "So, this is how you treat someone who just flew from Geneva to talk to you. I've been on the red-eye flight—cut me some slack."

"What do you know?"

Ceto looked confused. "About, Commander?"

"What do you know?!" he shouted. "You said the world was going to end today, and I want to know what you mean!"

"I never said the world was going to end," Ceto told him, surprisingly calm for someone in her position. "I said _your_ world was going to end."

"Do _not_ think that I won't hesitate to shoot you," Olivetti spat. "You're talking about a threat to Vatican City and by connection, the Pope. I have every right to torture you until you tell me the truth!"

Ceto shrugged, her jacket scratching against the rough stone of the wall. "I told you—your world is going to end today. There really is nothing more to tell you, it's not like you can stop it." Offhandedly, she asked, "Do you happen to know where all of your cardinals are this fine morning?"

Ignoring her last question, Olivetti snapped, "What is going to happen?!"

"Vatican City will be consumed by light," she said, her eyes dark with unknown memories. "You'll do good to remember that, Commander Olivetti. It sounds familiar, doesn't it? Don't you know it from somewhere? Think hard."

Olivetti growled. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I do know that you're either a lunatic or a very serious threat."

"Really? I'm flattered."

With a snarl, he yanked her and pulled her arms behind her back, cuffing them. "Come with me and don't make a scene, or you'll be bleeding all the way back to Swiss Guard Headquarters. You're under arrest." Ceto smiled but said nothing as he pulled her past hordes of people to the small yet foreboding headquarters of the world's smallest army.

As they stepped inside, a young, ridiculously-blonde officer stepped into Olivetti's view. "Chartrand!" he barked.

The boy—because that was basically what he was—jumped in surprise. "Yes, Commander?"

He shoved Ceto over to the guard. "Take care of her for me. Lock her in one of the cells for questioning."

Bemused, Chartrand took the girl over to an adjacent doorway. "You know," Ceto told the lieutenant as Olivetti headed toward his personal office, "I like your commander—he's very convenient. Would you believe he forgot something very important?"

Chartrand arched an eyebrow as he opened the door to the cells. "Oh really? What was that?"

Her voice floated over to Olivetti as the door shut behind Chartrand and his prisoner. "He forgot to take away my gun."

Olivetti instantly bolted from his desk, rushing over to the door and scanning his keycard. As the door hissed open, he saw Chartrand out cold on the ground with a pair of cuffs on the ground beside him. Out of his line of sight, down the corridor, he heard several gunshots and suddenly the siren on the emergency door started to blare.

He slammed his fist into the wall. "Damnit!"

* * *

Hours later, as he listened to the threat-video, Olivetti's phone rang. Numbly, he picked up and pressed the receiver to his ear. The commander recognized the voice instantly, even though it only spoke three patronizing, ominous words.

"I told you."

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_Tell me who you want next!_

_Kit &_ Violet


	7. Maximilian Kohler

_Okay, I'll be honest, I **really** liked making this one! Maximilian Kohler is just very fun to write about! For those of you who've only seen the movie, this will be very confusing, so either go to Wikipedia, or read the book._

BTW, for some of you who may had been confused by the timeline of this story, this is how it goes so far:

**1.** Pope Celestine V

**2.** Vittoria Vetra

**3.** Commander Olivetti

**4.** Carlo Ventresca

**5.** Robert Langdon

**6.** The Hassassin

**7.** Maximilian Kohler

_Note: This is only the timeline. You don't have to read the story in this order, but you can. Also, be on the lookout for another Camerlengo oneshot called 'Pain', or something like that._

**_Warnings/Disclaimers: We only own the plot and Ceto._ **

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Maximillian Kohler sat in his office, checking and double-checking everything before he left for Vatican City. The X-33 space jet was fueled and roaring to go—he could hear the purr of the engine from where he sat behind his desk. In a few minutes, he would head for the jet, and twenty minutes after that, he would tell the world the truth.

"If you won't call me rude, can I ask what the hell you're doing?"

Kohler jumped and automatically his hands flew to his wheelchair, flicking one of the camcorders on and reaching for his gun. His eyes—which were scanning the room for his assailant—widened when he saw a young woman perched on one of the ornate armchairs in his room. She hadn't been there ten seconds ago. The girl stood, flicking a strand of red hair over her shoulder and crossed the room to Kohler's desk, where he sat, stunned. "Ceto Aiolfi. It's a pleasure to meet you." Numbly, Kohler shook the hand she offered.

As Ceto returned to her armchair, Kohler woke from his stupor and demanded, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Ceto smiled. "I'm here to stop you from doing something very stupid."

"How do you know what I'm about to do?"

A shrug. "Isn't that the question of the day?" She grinned. "You have no idea the massive amount of people who've asked me something along those lines today. How's about we just leave it at 'I just do', okay?"

Kohler scowled. "You're bluffing. I don't know who put you up to this—it was Professor Carter, wasn't it?—but I'm not in the mood for—"

"You're going to shoot the camerlengo." Kohler's jaw dropped as Ceto continued. "And reveal to the world that it isn't the Illuminati that's plaguing Vatican City, but a priest." The girl frowned. "What I want to know is _why_? Religion put you in that wheelchair—and has hurt many, many others. Islamic suicide bombers, martyrs who let themselves be burned alive for their God—Maximilian Kohler, you aren't the only one who was torn apart by religion."

"I am a scientist!" Kohler told her, "If anything, I must tell the world the truth, as I've been trying to do for so many years! Even if it saves the Vatican!"

"But why now?" Ceto asked. "Why not tell them later, when all is said and done? When Vatican City is reduced to rubble? Why the hell are you trying to stop it? Someone whose life was ruined by religion, by God, why are you trying to save them? Vatican City is destroyed and the church crumbles along with it! Brought to its knees by someone within its ranks—its walls, even. Can you _imagine_; a man of God, turning his back on his beliefs and siding with the Devil? Wouldn't that be better?"

"Yes," Kohler started, in awe of her logic, "Well, I see how that could make sense, but—"

"So, why are you helping them?" Ceto asked again. "Why not let them suffer as you—as we—have suffered? For so many years; four hundred years ago, _la purga_, discrimination, hatred, ridicule! And now, you, condemned to a chair, and me, condemned to this," she gestured to her hand, "And yet you're going to _help them_?"

To the very moment of his death—which, unbeknownst to him, was less than two hours away—Maximilian Kohler would wonder how he noticed that Ceto Aiolfi had a bionic hand. It was flawless—even under close scrutiny the skin was perfect and smooth, looking like a real hand in every way. It moved with the symmetry and perfection and balance of muscles, bones and tissue—not circuits, metal and computer chips.

Ceto smirked; she'd seen that he noticed. "When I said that there were people in the world that were torn apart by religion, I meant it literally in my case." She held her hand up to the light, and Kohler picked out the almost imperceptible whir of the hand. "It's amazing, isn't it? Just goes to show you what science can create nowadays. And it feels so real." The smile on her face was replaced with a dark scowl. "But I suppose I'm biased—I've had one since I was eight, so I've had fourteen long years to get used to it."

As Kohler searched for an answer, something occurred to him. "_La purga._ I know what that is—the Church kidnapped four Illuminati scientists and branded them with the cross before murdering them and tossing them into the streets. You speak of it with such disgust. Are you...." He trailed off and Ceto nodded. "That's impossible! They are a myth!"

Ceto smirked. "Just like stem cell research and bionic hands are myths, right?"

"The Illuminati never recruited women."

"They've never met a woman like me before." Suddenly, the phone rang and Ceto frowned. "That must be your jet pilot—I've kept you." She sighed. "Do what you will, Maximilian Kohler, but I _must_ know why."

Maximilian Kohler sighed, and rolled his wheelchair forward, out the door and into the hallway. Ceto followed him, matching his chair with a leisurely stroll. Kohler glanced up at her. "Because, Ceto Aiolfi, I am a scientist. As you very well know, scientists are devoted to the truth, and telling it to the masses—at any cost." He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he rolled up to the elevator, pressing the button. When the doors opened, he gestured for Ceto to step in. "Despite what religion has turned my life into, the world must know the truth; I will not allow that damned priest to use CERN's creation for his own religious publicity stunt—one that will cost the lives of everyone in Vatican City."

As the elevator doors began to slide closed, Ceto smiled and raised her bionic hand in a sort of goodbye wave. "At least where there is science, there is honor. The Illuminati would have welcomed you, Maximilian Kohler."

By the time Kohler had caught the next elevator and gotten down to the lobby, Ceto was long gone. But it was just as he was boarding the jet that Maximilian Kohler had noticed that his camcorder—the one that had been recording all that time—was missing.

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_REVIEW!_

It's her turn.

_Kit &_ Violet


	8. Cardinal Saverio Mortati

_Well, it looks like we did do Cardinal Mortati anyway! I dozed off on the plane to California and this one came to me! Again, this character isn't in the movie (his equivalent in the movie is Great Elector Strauss), so either read the book or go to Wikipedia to read up on him!_

The guy in between us wouldn't stop staring at her!

_VI! _

What? It's true! Anyway, we shouldn't even be posting this, because you jerks arent' reviewing!!!

_Well, Vi's mad again. BTW, this one is in between Olivetti's and the camerlengo's. In this one, we learn a lot about Ceto!_

_**Warnings/Disclaimers: The usual **_

_**Also**, all the information about Catholic Confessional was learned from the helpful (but maybe not totally truthful) people on Yahoo Answers. If anything is wrong or inaccurate/offensive in any way, **PLEASE LET US KNOW** so we can edit it. Religion is a tricky thing to write about, and God only knows how Dan Brown pulls it off._

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"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…."

Cardinal Mortati sat inside Confessional, taking the confessions of Catholics from all over the world before Conclave began. This was his last confession, and then he was to report to the Sistine Chapel.

"Father, if I may, today I would like to tell you some stories."

Mortati was startled from his reverie. Stories? This was new. The voice on the other side of the screen was young and definitely female. "Of course, my child," he murmured, confused but not surprised. People had strange ways of confessing—one man referred to himself in fourth person; something Mortati wasn't even sure existed.

"I have three stories to tell, Father. My first story has not taken place yet, but soon will."

_She is confessing sins she hadn't even committed yet?_ Cardinal Mortati's eyebrows arched in surprise, but he listened as she continued.

"There is a man—a very religious man from a very young age. He has sat in a position of semi-importance for a long time, watching his church wither in the stream of time. But he had decided to act, to show the world that religion belonged to God, not science. So he made a plan. Father, I ask you to forgive his sins; those he had already committed in God's name and those yet to be."

Mortati frowned. "You have come here to confess for others?"

There was a smile in her voice. "Father, I do not believe in God, so sins I have committed with never be confessed. I came to ask forgiveness for the man in my first story."

"First?"

"If you remember," she said, "There are two more. That is generally how one counts to three."

Ignoring the slightly derisive comment, the cardinal was baffled. A girl who wasn't religious came to church to ask him to forgive the sins of others—and he thought he had seen it all. "Continue, please, my child."

"My second story has no time, because it is not yet finished. Four hundred years ago, the Catholic Church dominated, crushing dissenters with an iron fist. It was a time of discovery and despite Church control, discoveries were made that didn't agree with—defied, even—Catholic doctrine on science. It was headed by one man, but soon one blossomed into one hundred. They met in secret—God-fearing men, afraid of the spread of the Church's lies to the masses. But several years after this society was founded, the Church found, branded, executed and dumped onto the street four of the scientists in the society, accusing them of worshipping Satan and heresy."

She paused and Mortati grew even more confused. Her story sounded very, very familiar, but he couldn't place where he heard it. He sighed—_old age_.

"And so," the girl continued, faint traces of rage in her voice, "The scientists grew angry, violent and cruel. Many demanded an eye for an eye, but the time was not right. They fled Italy, hiding within and behind other organizations, amassing power to strike back at the Church. They waited four hundred years to enact their ancient threat—destruction of Vatican City by light. But, before they did, they saw a man."

"The man you spoke of?" Cardinal Mortati asked, "The religious one?"

"The very same, Father. The society was amused by his efforts, by his thoughts and plans; but they were wary. They wanted him to succeed, but failure was inevitable—religion couldn't prosper in the face of science. But the society knew that their involvement would reveal them sooner than they had hoped, and a man would be too conspicuous. And so they sent a woman."

"A woman to do what?" Mortati was morbidly intrigued in her stories—which he guessed weren't actually fiction—and realized that for a Confession, this woman had confessed almost nothing.

"Patience," the woman told him, sounding smug. "This woman's name is Ceto Aiolfi—the only woman in this brotherhood. She was sent to aid the man."

"A scientist was sent to aid a man saving religion?!"

"You're catching on, Father."

"And this young lady," Mortati struggled with her name—ancient Italian wasn't his forte—"Ceto Aiolfi; is she your next story?"

A laugh—not quite young, but it had an ethereal, child-like quality that left Cardinal Mortati wondering what she was laughing about. "She is, but this story took place fourteen years ago, when Ceto was eight." There was a pause, and then, "Ceto Aiolfi's family was very religious—and as a result, so was she."

"But she is a scientist!"

"I said _was_, Father. When she was eight, Ceto's parents decided to test her and her brothers—one four years her senior and the other four years her junior—to see if they were worthy in God's eyes of His love. They lit a bonfire outside, deep in the woods—'In the nature God created for us', they told their children—and told Ceto's brothers to stand in the flames for seven minutes; God's holy number. If they came out relatively unscathed, like the men who came out of the flames in the Fiery Furnace, they were worthy of God's love." The woman was silent for several minutes, then said in a quieter voice, "Both boys burned to death within four minutes."

"My poor child, where did you hear this horrible story?" Mortati wondered who this woman could be. A relative of this Ceto girl, perhaps?

"That is irrelevant, Father. May I continue?"

Stunned with horror, Mortati nodded before he realized that she couldn't see him. "Yes, please. My apologies for interrupting."

"It was now their daughter's turn, but being a female, she had only to put her hand into the fire. Even as Ceto's hand burned beyond recognition, her parents did nothing. The next day, Ceto Aiolfi set her house on fire, with her parents still asleep inside—God did not judge them worthy either."

The cardinal shuddered in horror, and for a moment, he thought he could smell burning flesh. The young woman seemed to sense it. "Terrible, isn't it? But Ceto was saved, given a new hand built by science, and adopted into a brotherhood built on truth. Ceto Aiolfi turned her back on religion and found a new God—science."

Cardinal Mortati let out a deep breath that he didn't realize he had been holding. "These stories you have told me are strange and horrible, and lead me to wonder where you had heard them. Do you want me to absolve the sins of Ceto Aiolfi as well?"

The young woman chuckled. "I told you, Father, I am not religious. I turned my back on that fourteen years ago. My sins will never be repented, because I will never regret what I have done." There was a rustle of cloth, and then silence.

It took only a moment for Cardinal Mortati to realize that he was _talking_ to Ceto, but by the time he had stepped out of the Confessional, there was no one on the other side. A young woman with bright red hair who was kneeling at the pews—her clothes rumpled as if she had just gotten there—was the only other person in the church.

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REVIEW DAMNIT!!! OR NO POSTS FOR THE NEXT MONTH!!!

_Kit &_ Violet


	9. The Preferiti

_I just had to post this one....even if it is 2:12 in the morning here in California! Vi's asleep, so go figure._

_**Ayuda, por favor! Tenemos que apurarnos!: **__Help, please! We have to hurry!_

_**Warnings/Disclaimers: The usual**_

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Cardinal Baggia stared at the small trickle of water that trailed through his cell, winding down through the prison next to him when Cardinal Guidera sat praying, and finally pooling at the feet of Cardinal Lamasse. Cardinal Ebner had been taken half an hour ago, and Baggia doubted he would be back.

Footsteps echoed through Il Passetto, and Baggia looked up as a shadow loomed around the bend. Guidera's prayers trailed off, and he and Lamasse exchanged nervous glances--were they saved? Or was it that imposter priest that had ushered them in here to begin with, come to take another one of them?

Lamasse murmured a prayer as a young woman walked in, the dim lights in the hallway making her deep red hair shine like flames. A look of confusion passed between the priests; who was this? Baggia listened for more footsteps--perhaps this was an accomplice--but no one came.

Apparently Cardinal Guidera realized this as well. Shakily, he climbed to his feet, grabbing the bars. _"Ayuda, por favor! Tenemos que apurarnos!" _When he got no reaction, he tried again in Italian, and then in English.

The girl laughed when he repeated his plea in English. "I'm perfectly fluent in Italian and Spanish, Cardinal Guidera. It just so amusing to see you speaking English."

"Why?" Lamasse asked. "English is the international language now. We can't _not _know it, as the _preferiti_."

Rage flashed in the young woman's green eyes. "That is not what your church thought four hundred years ago! Four hundred years ago, _preferiti_—all of you damned cardinals—burned people for uttering a syllable of English. You thought it was the language of trash!"

"That time has long passed!" Guidera said hurriedly, glancing down the passage nervously. "Times have changed. Now please, my child, let us out of these prisons! We must hurry; Conclave must have—"

"They have started without you. You are forgotten here."

"My child—" Lamasse started.

"Do not call me that!" she snapped. "How dare you call me that?"

"We do the work of God," Baggia told her, keeping his gaze away from the brand that lay in the roaring flame. "All of mankind are our children."

"Yes," the girl scoffed, "And how well you care for you children; a group of ancient men huddled in a fortress while their world collapses around them. Tell me, Cardinal Baggia, what is the work of God that you do?"

"We take care of the weak, the poor, the hungry. The children and the elderly." Guidera had conviction in his eyes.

"You speak with the blind faith of a Spanish Catholic, born and raised. Tell me," the young woman challenged, "Where are you for the weak now? For the poor and the hungry around the world? The suffering? What works of God have you bestowed upon them?"

"We give them faith. Those who suffer and are weak and hungry will be rewarded."

She whirled on Cardinal Baggia, every muscle in her body trembling with rage. "_Faith? Faith _is what you give them?! Faith will not protect them from the real world! Faith will not feed them, not give them clothing to put on their backs! Faith will not heal the sick! Faith does nothing but put hope in hearts where it doesn't belong! Those who are weak and poor and hungry will be rewarded, but they will be rewarded sooner than they should because faith will not sustain them!"

Lamasse coughed. "To live is to suffer. God is testing them—their suffering is a measure of their faith."

"Their faith will not save them!" the young woman shouted, her voice cracking and echoing in the small chamber. "Where was _faith _for the child who lost his mother in the house of God? Where was _faith _for the child whose parents refused to treat his illness with medicine, but waited for God to save him? How did _faith _save the children who burned alive while their parents tested them in God's name?"

Baggia nodded. "Ah, but their tests were difficult, and the rewards great. They suffered, and learned from it."

The flames in the fireplace suddenly shot up, illuminating the girl, making her look like some sort of fallen angel. "Learned? What did they learn? That theirs was a cruel and vengeful God? That He would sacrifice the lives of few to save the many?"

Cardinal Baggia sighed and shook his head. "My child," the girl bristled, "You are very misguided. You have been lured off the path of illumination, and what you see is not the truth."

There was a long silence before the girl shrugged. "Well, Cardinal Baggia, maybe I _am _misguided. Maybe I live a lie." Her gaze swept over the cardinals. "But if your words are the truth, then maybe I'll do better to stay off your path to illumination, and make my own."

The girl turned, and started for the hallway where the imposter had taken Cardinal Ebner. "Wait!" Guidera shouted, rattling the bars of his prison, "Aren't you going to free us?"

She looked at him like he was crazy. "Of course not."

"Then what are we to do?" Lamasse asked. "Why will you not save us?"

The young woman sneered at him. "Don't worry," she spat, "Your faith will save you."

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_Review, because we can gladly hold out for a month! We have four other stories to be working on!_

_Kit_


	10. Captain Elias Rocher

Well, we warned y'all. See ya in August.

**Warnings/Disclaimers: We own nothing but Ceto Aiolfi and the plot.**

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It was gone.

It had been there, on his desk, just three goddamn minutes ago when he had gone to get coffee. And now—like magic—it had disappeared. He caught a glimpse of himself in the glass doors of his office as he stormed around his desk and groaned. It was the only part of his wardrobe that didn't make him feel ridiculous.

"So, _you _are the bear who walks in the viper's shadow?"

Rocher jumped and turned around, stunned to see a young woman leaning on his doorframe, wearing a white sundress—that ended just inches _above _her knee—and grinning like mad. On top of her ornately twirled red hair was a red beret. _His _red beret. "Give that to me."

The girl shrugged. "I think I'll pass."

The Swiss Guard lunged for her, but she ducked out the room, forcing him to stumble out into the hallway. In that instant, the girl whirled back inside and slammed the door in his face—Rocher was locked out of his own office. Outraged, he pounded on the glass door. The girl smiled cheekily and waved, then mouthed "I can't hear you". Grabbing his cell phone and punching in the digits, he pressed the phone to his ear as his office phone rang.

She picked up. "Hello?"

"_WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"_

A sigh. "Well, I think I just locked you out of your own office, but feel free correct me if I'm wrong."

"_GET OUT!" _He paused and sucked in deep breaths until the vein in his neck quit threatening to burst. "And give me back my hat!"

She shrugged. "Don't worry; you'll get your hat back. I just want you to answer some questions."

Rocher sighed—it looked like she wasn't coming out any time soon. Technically, he could go and ask several of the rookies to help him pry open the doors, but by the time they got back, the little sneak would be long gone. Suddenly, he remembered the distress button on his belt, one that Commander Olivetti had required all Swiss Guards to wear now. If he pressed it—and he did—help would track his location and send help. Meanwhile he would play her game. "What questions?"

The girl smiled. "There we go! Just a few simple ones, trust me."

"How can I trust someone who hasn't even told me their name?"

"You haven't told me yours."

Rocher frowned. "You already know it."

"Humor me; suppose I didn't." The young woman leaned against his desk, absently twirling the telephone cord.

Rocher growled; he was getting very sick of her infernal games. "Captain Rocher."

"Ceto Aiolfi. Pleasure to meet you."

The Swiss Guard paused. Commander Olivetti had ranted earlier this morning about a woman named Ceto Aiolfi—something about a bomb threat. The girl had overpowered one of the rookies and gotten away. "So you are the woman who…." Rocher trailed off, waiting for her to answer.

Ceto nodded and her grin grew wider. "Exactly." She frowned. "I hope I didn't hit Officer—is that what you call yourselves, officers?—Chartrand too hard. He seemed nice." She smirked. "He'd make a good Illuminatus lackey if he wasn't Catholic."

Rocher opened his mouth to snap something at her when her words registered. "You are an Illuminata?"

She rolled her eyes. "The ball drops. Yes, I am—can't you tell from the 'I'm a scientist so all you religious zealots can spontaneously combust' look on my face? Having fun finding the antimatter?"

The man pounded on the glass door of his office, using his other hand to press the distress button again—where the hell was everyone? "Where the hell is it?! I demand that you tell me!"

Ceto shrugged. "Like hell I know. The Illuminati didn't put it there."

Rocher froze. "But—But then who—"

"Oh no, don't get me wrong," she shook her head, "The 'Illuminati' put the bomb there, it's just that we didn't put it there."

"But you _are _Illuminati!"

"Exactly!" Ceto paused and rubbed her temples. "What are you not understanding here?" Before he could answer, however, she frowned. "Oh. In all this mayhem, I almost forgot my questions."

"I won't answer any of your questions," Rocher told her.

Her answer was blunt and simple. "Do you want your hat back or not?"

The man sighed. "What questions?"

Ceto smiled. "You are the bear that walks in the viper's shadow, right?"

"Yes." Rocher tried to figure out where she was going with this.

"So if you follow the viper, who follows the bear?" As Rocher was thinking of an answer, she thought of her own. "I know; the wolves."

"Wolves?"

She nodded. "Your loyal Swiss Guard." The girl paused and her eyes narrowed. "How many of them know what they're really looking for? How many of them know that if they don't find it, they'll die?"

"My men would gladly die for their Pope."

"There is no Pope. And if you don't find the antimatter in time, there never will be again."

"My men will find the bomb and catch the man behind this," Rocher ground out. _And they will catch you as well,_ he thought as he pressed the distress button again.

Ceto watched him, amused, and asked, "Aren't you wondering why no one is coming?"

Rocher froze—how the hell did she know? The girl smirked, and held up a pair of batteries. The captain looked down at his belt in horror—he distress button was dead. Ceto sighed. "It seems we're at an impasse; I can't leave until you go to get help, and you can't leave because I'll escape."

"I could call someone."

She laughed, her eyes sparkling with delight at his predicament. "I'm offended, Captain Rocher! To call someone else, you'd have to hang up on me! Besides, the walls of this place are lead-lined, and we're the only people in the building. Also, communication is down in the Swiss Guard Headquarters—you turned it off yourself to prevent the 'Illuminati' from listening in. No one can call in because of the wall, and no one can call out because of your stupidity. The only reason you can call this office is because you twisted the rules." She waggled a finger at him. "Tsk, tsk, Captain Rocher."

"They will have to come in soon," Rocher reasoned, ignoring her jibe. "They will have to report what they've found."

"When is soon?" she asked. "When the bomb detonates? What if they found nothing?" Ceto paused, listening to something for a moment—Rocher listened as well, but all he could hear was the hum of electric lights—and then asked again, "Are you still trying to find it by blacking out sections of the city?"

Before Rocher could answer, however, the entire floor blacked out. Instantly, the call ended and his door hissed open. Something slammed into him, knocking him to the ground, and then there was nothing. He was totally alone in the darkness, and footsteps were receding down the hall. A door slammed somewhere far to his right.

When the lights came back on a second later, Rocher was sitting alone in the hallway. His office was empty, and his red beret sat on the ground next to him.

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_Kit &_ Violet


	11. Lieutenant Chartrand

Hey y'all!

_Well, we warned you didn't we? Anyway this is the last installment of this series.....although I never intended for it to be a series. For those of you waiting on And Now I Lay Me Down To Death, I'm really sorry, but I've been completely writer-blocked lately, and I'm also thinking of changing the name._

Also, while the whole series was based on the **book**, this last chapter will be based on the **movie ending**.

**_Warnings/Disclaimers: We own nothing but the plot and Ceto Aiolfi_ **

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Chartrand's breathing was heavy and his head reeled as he and several other members of the Swiss Guard chased the camerlengo through the Sistine Chapel. _Carlo._

Chartrand's head reeled. He had _trusted_ the man, followed him into the Necropolis—the City of the _Dead_, for God's sake—and it felt like a blow to the gut to learn it had been him all along.

He and the others rounded a corner to find the hallway empty. There was a paused as they all exchanged glances, then Chartrand's sharp ears picked out the sliding of fabric over the marble floor. He shot off down a corridor, the others following him. The corridor petered out into the Chapel of Confessions—the giant hall directly under the dome of the basilica, housing the Niche of Palliums—and Chartrand caught a glimpse of the camerlengo as he disappeared down the steps.

Before he and the others had even taken two steps, the chapel exploded with gunfire coming from the Niche—in seconds, Chartrand was the only guard left standing, and instinct drove him straight to the Niche, peering over the railing down at the camerlengo.

There was a girl in the Niche—the one that had gotten away from him earlier today, Chartrand realized—sitting against the railing that bordered the staircase down to the Grotto. The camerlengo stood before her, as stunned as Chartrand to see her there, his gaze transfixed on gun that lay in front of her. "You just shot members of the Swiss Guard."

The girl smiled. "You just killed the Pope."

"Touché."

They were silent for a moment, then the girl sighed and said simply, "So, Mr. Camerlengo, this is how it ends."

"This is how it has to end!!" The girl merely arched an eyebrow, and Carlo elaborated, gesturing wildly. "I am the Horror, and they," he gestured outside; to where people were singing in the square, "they are the Hope!" When the girl did nothing more then arch her other eyebrow, the priest sighed. "You wouldn't understand."

"Of course I would." Carlo looked up in surprise as the girl shrugged. "I was very religious when I was younger—and I paid for it dearly. I will never do it again, but I do understand where you're coming from." She sighed. "You see, it's not that I don't believe in God—he's there, end of story—it's just that I don't _believe in_ Him. His promises have been nothing more than double-edged swords to me."

Carlo started to say something, but then closed his mouth again, considering her words. "But you're Illuminati.....?"

"Ceto. Ceto Aiolfi," she told him. "I _am_ Illuminati, but I _do_ believe in God. So did Galileo. The fact that I don't believe him doesn't mean He's not there." Ceto frowned. "I so wish you had won, Carlo—I was sent to help you, actually."

"So why didn't you?!" the camerlengo demanded.

Chartrand bristled as Ceto responded, "Because I knew you were going to lose from the very beginning. You were fighting against science; of course you were going to lose."

"That's the way sinners think," Carlo snapped.

Ceto shrugged. "Oh, I know I'm going to Hell. I just figure I should make my footprint on the world before I do. There is nothing more ordinary in this world than the wish to be extraordinary, and I suppose that makes me a very ordinary person."

Chartrand's hand flew to his gun—though he didn't quite know who he was going to shoot—as Ceto stood, crossing the two steps between her and the camerlengo, and kissing the priest lightly on the lips. Chartrand's jaw dropped as she stepped back and giggled. "I don't know who's more surprised, you or the man watching us."

That was a warning: I know you're up there.

As Carlo stammered and brought his hand up to his lips in surprise, the Illuminata asked, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

He nodded, his composure back. "Yes. I have no other choice."

The girl smiled sadly and fished the golden lighter out of her pocket—Carlo checked his own pockets, surprised to see it missing—and flicked it on. The two of them watched the hypnotic flame for several seconds, and Chartrand thought that Ceto was going to throw the flame at the camerlengo. But instead, Ceto's thumb came off the lighter and she flipped it around, handing it back to the camerlengo end-first.

"'_This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live,'_" she quoted.

Carlo glanced at her in surprise. "Deu 30:19."

Ceto nodded and smiled, placing a hand on Carlo's shoulder. "Everyone has a choice, Carlo." Her hand squeezed his shoulder, and Chartrand noticed something odd about it—the movement was almost mechanical. "I'm going to miss you."

Both Carlo and Chartrand watched her disappear into the Grotto—Chartrand got the feeling that when they searched them later, she'd be gone—and the camerlengo flicked on the lighter.

Three seconds later, the screaming started.

* * *

REVIEW DAMNIT!

_Kit &_ Violet


End file.
